Of My Heart
by Typhaon
Summary: Roxas is a mildly troubled boy who finds himself sent to an inter-city school for problem kids. While he's there, he meets a certain redhead who proceeds to turn his world inside-out. Roxas is drawn to Axel like a moth to a flame. And loving it.
1. Chapter 1

**Of My Heart**

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**Warnings:**AU, slight OOC, shounen-ai (turned Yaoi later).

**Author Notes:**Hello everyone. This is the first chapter of my Kingdom Hearts fanfiction. It is Axel and Roxas oriented. But because I like things to move slow, this chapter is more of Roxas' background story. Please enjoy, and don't be afraid to review.

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It was never in my nature to be friendly. I had my moments, I'm sure everyone does. But for some reason it was difficult for me to be very, genuinely nice. I could almost spit that word out with disgust back then. As far as I was concerned, people I wasn't familiar with didn't even deserve the effort it took to be polite. I guess it doesn't take a genius to know I was an outcast. School was like a sick form of suicide, what with my attitude. Hardly a week went by when I wasn't scolded for some form of disobedience. And that was just in grade school. None of the children liked me, even though I rarely said anything and I was certainly not a hideous looking kid. Maybe it was a general vibe I exuded. I was avoided like the plague, growing up with little to no friends. The occasional comrades that I did have were more scared of me and my mood swings than anything else. That was hardly a fitting life for someone of my age at the time, but I didn't really have a choice. I was bitter, even though my past wasn't something to cringe at. I didn't have a long, dramatic story of childhood agony. Nothing should have been wrong with me. But there was something wrong with me. There was a dark cloud looming over my head, casting storms in my brain, making my heart rage and burn with the fires of anger. Fury that was unfounded stuck itself inside of me; I had no grounds for the level of wrath stored in my belly. No reason. Everyday things that should not have bothered me scratched away at my nerves, building up pressure until I exploded.

My outbursts happened once in a blue moon, but when they did you can pretty much guarantee there was a ruckus caused. I must have switched schools a thousand times because of this. No establishment wanted a student like me anywhere near the poor innocents in the young grades. I grew up moving around a lot because there are only so many schools in one district. Not that I cared. It was something I barely noticed, if you want to know the truth. They were just all faceless, nameless parasites living in a world they were slowly destroying. I couldn't name one set time where I became so angry; it was as natural to me as breathing. As an after effect, I didn't care about anyone else but myself. Looking out for number one was my top priority one-hundred percent of the time.

My mother, bless her soul, tried everything in the book to get me to calm down. I wouldn't be able to name any of my psychiatrists, but I can say that there were a lot. They'd always try to manipulate stories out of me; trying to convince me that I must have been molested as toddler or other crazy stories. It always boiled down to my not receiving enough love from some important figure in my life. I say it was all bullshit. I'd had everything from priests to Satanists trying to determine what celestial being was using my young body as a vessel. But there was no "celestial-being". There was no deeper meaning. I was just an irate, disturbed child. And I was satisfied.

Needless to say I entered high school the same way. I stumbled my way through 9th grade blindly, a deep seated terror that took a home right next to the hostility in my heart. It was probably the first time in my life that I'd cared that I was alone. Around me, I took notice of the groups of happy people, chatting away at lunch hour, scattered in the halls between classes. And where was I to fit in the giant bee-hive of activity that was secondary education? I was always by myself; it didn't matter how much I wanted to join them. The silence was something I had become familiar with. It was like I had a warm security blanket that kept me safe, yet shrouded me in darkness. It protected me and I was too scared to discard it. That year I lost a lot of my resentment, a lot of the livid emotions. I became consumed by the silence of my own sadness. People say the two strongest emotions are love and hate. I'd have to disagree. Until you have felt true sadness, how could you possibly put a mark on any of the emotions? My sadness had overcome any anger left in my system. I suppose you could say that hate stemmed from my unhappiness. Hate for myself. I abhorred the fact that I'd let myself be excluded from what seemed like society as a whole. The only person who would smile at the sight of me was my mother, but it began to feel like she did it out of obligation. I'd long since distanced myself from her. Did I feel guilty? Maybe; I was probably too upset to notice.

It was early February during my 9th grade year that I was expelled for the first time in my high school career. I'd been expelled before in grade school, but it takes so much more than swearing at a teacher to get the boot with the older grades. I can't even remember exactly what I did, but I know it was bad. Sure I'd replaced my rage with something a bit less violent, but deep down inside it boiled at a temperature much higher than before. Whatever I did, it got me expelled without a second thought. I endured the gruelling processes of punishment; the teachers screaming in my face, the lecture I received from mom and the days spent in my room just staring at the ceiling. I was unaffected. Everyone around me wasn't.

I remember distinctly a Sunday night, during my period between schools where I realized just how serious my actions had become. I was lying under the covers in my bed, looking at the grooves in the wood of my bedside table, listening in the dark to my mother in the kitchen. She was busily making dinner and talking on the phone to principals of new schools for me. Through the thin walls I heard her get rejected, time after time. I didn't want to force her to move again, but when word had gotten out about my latest outburst, schools everywhere in the district didn't want anything to do with me. It was like we were exiled in our own country; in our own city! It was all my fault. I went to the dinner table that night with massive amounts of grief piled on my soul. I don't know if it was guilt, because I didn't know what it felt like at the time. Just the two of us, sitting silently and picking through the food. I wasn't even remotely hungry, but she had prepared me a meal, so I would eat it. It was an almost tragic atmosphere between us. She jabbed her fork unenthusiastically into the spiced chicken in pieces on her plate, refusing to look up from it in mock concentration.

"I found a school that may take you." She said; her voice dry. My mother loved me unconditionally, but sometimes she could be as cold as I was. I was more of a responsibility than a son, now. "But you might need to take the bus."

"What school?"

"Preston Academy for the Behaviourally Challenged" I tore my gaze away from my lap and stared straight at her, watching as she avoided my eyes. She'd always tell me that there was nothing wrong with me, and that she would never send me to a school for problem kids. Something had changed in my mother. Maybe that had been the last straw.

"Preston's? I've never heard about it-"

"Let's just say it's not a place you'd like to brag about attending." She interrupted me with ferocity in her voice I hadn't heard before. She was defending herself against me; she thought I was going to get mad. I wasn't angry. I was confused. What had changed in my mother?

"Well, where is it?"

"Its downtown some. Right downtown. Downtown."

"Downtown!?" I couldn't help but be shocked by that. Even with my problems I hadn't been sent to any school in that area. Downtown is usually looked at as being the most commercial, with lots of little shops and businesses, hustling and bustling productively about. But in this city, that was the place you didn't want to be. Street gangs dominated the area, preventing all but a few shops to flourish in the surrounding neighbourhood. Poor people rented run-down apartments, graffiti on every building. The police were always on patrol somewhere nearby. And if you had a dangerous child, you would send them to Preston Academy. As hard on the inside as I was at the time, I had grown up in a very forgiving part of society. They wouldn't treat me too roughly; they were scared of me. They were soft.

I knew Preston Academy was going to be different. The kids attending would have grown up with a life of hardship. They would have reason for their problems, while mine were groundless. I wouldn't stand a chance. They wouldn't take my mouthing off with a cringe.

Preston Academy for the Behaviourally Challenged was nothing at all like the description they boasted about on their website. The school was a tall, 3 floor building made of dark brick and metal, looming over the small parking lot and pathetic front garden. Tall wire fences surrounded the perimeter, the tops pointing inward so one could not climb over it. The grass was a patchwork of green, yellow and brown, the melting snow piles of February damaging the already ailing lawn. There were bars on the Plexiglas windows, the purpose of which I didn't want to know, though I could guess. The front doors were huge and made of thick dark wood, carved with intricate patterns. However, it was taken away from by the words "Fuck Uppressive Socierty" scrolled inartistically and incorrectly in lime green spray paint. Marks along the brick showed that the doors weren't the only places on the building that had been tagged by the unintelligent anarchist. Except for me, the schoolyard was deserted, adding to the overall uneasiness I felt upon arriving. My mother had actually found it in her heart to drive me on my first day, instead of forcing me to take the bus. I was told that I could ask about schedules and bus passes with my guidance councillor after I had been checked in at the main and attendance offices.

She pulled up to the front of the school, nearly hitting the base of the bent flagpole and handed me my backpack. "Have a good day at school." She said rather unenthusiastically, pressing the button on her left hand side to unlock my door. "Be good and study hard!" With that, she waved and shut the door behind me, speeding off with a vigilance that left me somewhat hurt. Those big chestnut doors loomed over me like a giant, with the rest of the building even further up. I craned my neck to see, intimidated by an inanimate object for the first time. You would have been too. I walked up the cracked stone steps one by one, hearing the sandpaper like sound of my sneakers against the broken pavement. Perhaps it was all in my mind, but there were no birds chirping that I could hear; no wind. No sound of the kindness of nature as one would expect. Not on this property.

I clasped the metal door handles and pulled hard, the weight of it felt like I was trying to pull a suction cup off of a flat window. They creaked and moaned menacingly at me, warning me not to enter the halls of this dreadful school. But it was too late, and some part of me understood that if I deserved to be anywhere after the way I had acted, it was here.

The halls were dark and dim, even with the fluorescent lights burning high up in the cathedral-like ceilings. The floor was tiled, black and white diamond patterns with a small jade-coloured edging line near the walls. I tapped my foot down. Marble. It could have been a rather attractive looking feature to this otherwise dank entryway, but the scuff marks, trash, dirt, dust and slush ruined any chance it had. Wads of gum had turned black and flat from the countless times it must have been walked on. To my right there was another large door with a sign displaying the numbers '01' and the words 'Main Office'. My first stop. I didn't want to venture any father inward, though. The smell of the place could keep even the rats out. But I prevailed and wandered inside, hearing my footsteps now echo through the cavernous hallway that was Preston Academy.

I walked into the main office with low expectations, imagining nothing more than a few desks but no bodies. I guess that's why I was so surprised to see that it was actually a place almost buzzing with activity. There was a long counter which separated me from the rest of the office and a line of chairs up against the wall behind me. There were four or 5 desks behind the counter, each with a lady sitting behind it, typing away. Behind them, there was a wall with a giant sliding window and a door, the words Principal in chipped gold paint donning both. I walked up to the counter, unsure of what exactly to do. I'd done this before many times, but never without my mother at my side. She'd just abandoned me today, perhaps thinking that I was too old to need her help. Or maybe it was just her wanting to be rid of me.

My voice sounded almost meek as I spoke above the sound of the secretaries typing.

"Um, hey…"

No reaction. I shifted my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, staring in every corner of the room until I regained my composure. While the room was busy with sound, it couldn't hide the fact that, upon closer inspection, it was just as run down as the hallway outside and the front yard. The lights above us murmured with the low levels of electricity running through them. The desks and the counter were dented and painted a cheap pastel blue, the computers on which they were typing were old and needed a dusting. The window and wall to the principal's office was also painted blue and displayed rather suspicious looking holes the size of quarters.

"Um, YO! Excuse me!" I spoke up again, trying to gain some precedence over the disturbingly unison tapping of the keys. The woman at the desk closest to the counter let her eyes drift only for a moment to me before returning to the screen of her computer.

"You're Rockwell Mason?" she asked, her voice loud and guttural to match her rather butch and unkempt physique. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as she used my full name. It was embarrassing the first time I transferred, but now it was just getting old.

"Uh, yeah. But everyone just calls me Roxas."

She snorted in laughter. "That's not a real name. It's not YOUR real name. You'll go by Rockwell."

It took everything I could to swallow the words I was about to spew up. Whatever, she was just some lonely secretary. "Is there anything I need to do now?"  
"Your record tells me you should know what to do by now, what with all the schools you've been to." Her eyes finally tore away from the screen and stared at me fixedly over the rims of her glasses. "Although, you're probably one of the scrawniest boys attending this school to date. I don't see what kinda trouble you could have gotten into that got you to transfer," she squinted at a sheet of paper on her desk, "13 times."

The other secretaries joined in a small chuckle along with her as she analyzed me. Sure I wasn't much, but I didn't need to be buff to do damage. I hated it when people underestimated me.

The secretary continued, "From here, you visit attendance. Then the guidance office. She'll take you to your classes." She threw something in my direction and it made a smacking noise as it hit the counter in front of me.

"That's the Preston Academy Student Notebook. Inside is a map of the grounds, the school rules and regulations and a page you fill out with your personal information. You know, in case we need to identify your fragile, mangled body after you get your ass kicked by some of the bigger guys here."

"Are you sure it's entirely professional for a secretary to be speaking to an impressionable student that way? Why don't you save it for your divorce court appeal?" I snapped right back at her. It only made her laugh indignantly.

"I don't need to. I get plenty of practise dealing with you shit-head kids every day. My stamina has risen so I can beat down any slime-ball lawyer alive or dead."

I snatched the student notebook from the counter and turned towards the door, defeated in my own attempt at insult. This school was definitely going to be different from the other ones. At any normal school, the secretary would have looked like someone slapped her in the face with the way I spoke with disrespect. I should have known that little to no respect for authority was practised here.

"When you're in attendance, _Rockwell_, be sure to talk to the Vice Principal. The real one could care less about this whole ordeal, but the VP would throw a fit if you don't announce your presence."

I didn't reply. It wasn't even worth it anymore. I shoved open the door with my shoulder, leaving a room full of cackling secretaries in my wake. What a warm welcome.

After my visit to the attendance office, I strolled through the halls, my new Student Notebook open to the map. The attendance office was right across the hall from the main one; why they didn't put the Guidance office there as well was beyond me. I wanted to find it as soon as possible, refusing to get caught up in the change of classes. I studied the map intently, glancing up every so often to make sure I was in the correct wing of the school. Preston Academy was the biggest school I'd ever attended, with confusing hallways and décor it was impossible to tell one section from the other. All I had to lead me was the room number. Guidance was room 200, so naturally I assumed it was on the second floor. I climbed a large spiral staircase to the upper floors, uneasy about my direction, taking the steps two at a time, my messenger backpack flapping at my side with each stride I took. If I had any inkling of the second floors being brighter, was I ever wrong. They were perhaps darker than the main floor, air stale and tinged with the scent of sweat. A dungeon. It appeared that any windows I'd seen from the outside only resided inside the classroom. Even a deaf man could have heard the shuffling of my feet in the deserted hallway. I stole a gaze back down to my map, comparing what I saw to the number on the door nearest me. 302. I did a double take. Was I on the third floor? I couldn't have been. The diagram had told me that in taking that particular staircase I would be directed straight to second floor. Did I miss a turn somewhere? I was frustrated to say the least, once again cursing the idiot who decided it would be funny to hide the guidance office away amongst this maze.

I don't know how I didn't hear it, or what in the world could have occupied my mind so much that I failed to notice the footsteps up behind me. But when I felt a tap on my shoulder, I jumped at least 5 feet into the air with a pathetic yelp.

Whirling around to face my "attacker", I stopped short.

"Hey there."

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AUTHOR NOTES: Please read and review. Even if you didn't enjoy it. I love to hear from you.

next chapter will be up sooner rather than later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Of My Heart**

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**Warnings:**AU, slight OOC, shounen-ai (turned Yaoi later).

**Author Notes: **Okay. Chapter 2. Here we go. The confrontations and etc. Read and Review!

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I don't ever remember a time before my first day at Preston Academy that I felt the least bit _attracted_ to anyone. I always felt like I was the public's enemy, so I never even bothered with girls. As you may know, women are sensitive, weepy and crave attention. A boy of my history was programmed like a robot. All I knew was myself and the way my mind worked in regards to others. I never felt stimulated during the process of puberty. I was only in 9th grade, so in reality I was still going through the horrific hormone procedure. I was growing taller, my voice deeper and I had hair in embarrassing places. However, in the area of sexuality I was merely impassive. Nothing had come by that had caught my interest. In 8th grade I had walked through the school watching the testosterone filled pubescent males salivate at the already physically developed girls. Is it just me, or is there something deeply wrong with 13-year-old girls wearing bras that could belong to Pamela Anderson? But I digress. Girls just never did anything for me, and I had almost no idea how to react to them on the off chance they did talk to me. But I didn't really know a whole lot about boys either. I never thought I would need anyone but myself. So my reaction was a bit odd and took me right off balance when I turned to see who exactly it was that had tapped me.

I whirled my head around at almost break-neck speed. I felt like I had literally jumped out of my skin. I found myself staring at someone's chest. Someone's broad, Radiohead t-shirt-clad chest. He was older, of that I had no doubt. When he'd called to me, his voice was unmistakeably more mature than mine.

The guy was pretty tall; he definitely towered over me. I looked up into his face and I found my pulse had started racing. I broke out into a strange cold sweat, even though I knew my face was beet red. He had a slim face with very sharp features; high cheekbones and slanted eyes. In the right situation, someone might have thought this man was Asian. But I could tell – this close- that he most definitely was not. It wasn't an odd looking face either. It had this handsomeness to it that wasn't that of your typical male model. His eyes were a startling shade of emerald; a pure green colour, very much unlike the diluted, mucky hazel that occupies the eyes of most. His hair was dyed (at least I assumed so) bright red and was pulled away from his face, spiked in the back in an unusual style. He was dressed relatively casually, in his black t-shirt and tight black jeans.

I swallowed hard. I was finally starting to feel puberty in a way that wasn't just growing pains and razor burn. It was the giddy, love-struck kind of pain that seared its way through my heart and activating the dormant butterflies in my stomach. In my gracelessness I stood there just staring for a few moments, watching the emotions play over his features. The dominant expression was that of amusement.

"I said 'Hey There'" His voice was silky smooth as his eyes raked over my small, awkward form. I could feel chills run up my spine and gooseflesh rise on my arms. It must have been karma. Of course the place I experienced my first crush was in an institution for kids with behavioural problems. Not to mention my first crush was of the male variety. Fate was up on his pedestal laughing his ass off at me, I just knew it. For now, all I could do was play along in his game and see what good (if any) was to come of it.

The boy was still looking at me quizzically and I knew some sort of answer was required. Standing with my mouth half open like a dead fish was not the most attractive look I could have gone for.

"Uh, um, hi?" I said brilliantly. Fantastic job Roxas. Very smooth. Like freaking peanut butter.

"Little lost?" He asked. Oh lord, a saviour? Have you sent me an angel? Would this boy be a help, rather than a hindrance?

"Uh I guess so."

"Okay then let me help." Much to my embarrassment and mild horror, he bent down so we were face to face. I must have flushed every hue of the colour red that existed in the entire spectrum. His thin but plush lips came close to my ear as he whispered, "The prep school is on the other side of town."

What the hell? WHAT the HELL? So this fucker thought he was pretty goddamn funny? I jumped away from him in indignation. Another person who thought I didn't belong here? Was this what my school experience was going to be like? I couldn't help but want to give up at that very second. I knew it wasn't going to be the easiest thing in the world, but I hated it when people underestimated me. I needed to direct my sudden fury into a brilliantly scathing comeback.  
"I-I…" A stutter. Fuck him for turning me into a scatter-brained twit. "I-I go HERE, thank you very much!" Lame. It was so lame.

This time he didn't chuckle. He laughed. I'm sure I would have enjoyed the sound if he hadn't been making a fool of me. I'm sure I would have enjoyed a lot of things about him, had he not been making a fool of me.

"Is that so? Aren't you a little small to be doing anything bad enough to get you in here?"

"You'd be surprised." Was my curt reply. "I've gotta go." I turned. I wasn't in the mood to deal with much verbal abuse so early in the morning.

"Where you headed?"

"No where."

"Guidance?"

Fuck. Generally, when you go to a school long enough, you've seen everyone's face at least once before. Perhaps that's why this pain-in-the-ass knew I was the "new kid" and needed to visit guidance. I was obviously not the first to get lost trying to find it either. I didn't want to admit that he was right in his assumption, but there was no safe way to turn this conversation around.

"Th-they lied on the map!"

"Oh they did?" Again with that smart-aleck smirk. If he wasn't so much bigger than me I would have smacked it right off his lips. "Well, good luck with that then."

I blinked. Okay, what? I watched as he turned around and sauntered to the other end of the hall, without another word on the subject. Dropped like scalding bowl of soup. Abandoned like a prom night dumpster baby. To my dismay I caught myself staring at his backside. Shaking my head I groaned and continued my search for the elusive guidance office monster. Croikey.

As it turned out, I had been on the correct floor. I had stumbled into the actual guidance office by chance (and a little help from the various college advertising posters stuck to the walls outside). I was happy to find the counsellors were much nicer than the secretaries in the main office. They informed me that many freshmen had trouble finding the guidance office; especially due to one of the seniors recently switching the second and third floor room numbers and securing it with military grade epoxy. They also escorted me to my first class of the day – Learning in Life- and introduced me to the students scattered in random places. If I were to use two words to compare a public school's general student appearance to that of this institution, the public school's would be immaculate in contrast to Preston Academy's word: dilapidated. It seemed that the 90's grunge fad didn't die with Kurt Cobain and the rest of Nirvana. The majority of the class looked like they had just stepped out of a Mosh pit, while a few others looked both better and worse. I chose a seat next to a hooded boy sitting near the back. He was staring at his hands, his eyes shaded, textbook open in front of him.

The rest of my first day went on uneventfully. No one spoke to me. In fact, it was almost as if I didn't exist at all. Perhaps that had been for the best. How well was I going to transition into a new school if my blanket of loneliness hadn't been wrapped around me so tightly? I was almost thankful. However it also signified a lack of a new start. If it wasn't going to happen with these other kids, why on earth would it happen to me?

Day two in the hellhole was pretty much the same. In fact, for the remainder of my first week at Preston Academy, everything was the same. I wasn't spoken to, except by the occasional teacher. I ate alone in the north stairwell, the only place unoccupied by students during lunch hour. Every day was the same droning routine. If I had been at a public school, I would have given in to the urges and cured my boredom with trouble. At this new school it seemed futile to even scheme about causing trouble. The teachers were always one step ahead of any student who might have been planning something. In my Math09 class, someone had snuck in a lighter, lit a wad of paper on fire and threw it at a girl with cornrows sitting in a seat up front. Our professor took it all in stride, whipping out a fire extinguisher from under his desk and dousing it before the girl had a chance to leave her seat. I was generally outsized, outsmarted and outcast from and by the general student population.

Week two began just as uneventful and by Wednesday I was beginning to get restless. As I was sitting in my Learning in Life (a class about dealing with emotional stress and behaviour modification) I leaned back in my seat and screamed at the top of my lungs. I didn't speak any words; it was just a long, keening screech, clutching my hair in my fingers, shaking from every joint in my body. The teacher went silent, and the students watched me with wide eyes. I could probably guarantee that it hadn't been the first time someone went nuts in a classroom. However, I was new, I was small and I had been quiet for the majority of my time spent there. I could feel the desk rattle and shake underneath my crazed form. When my throat died out from shrieking, I'm not entirely sure what happened. The entire world around me went black. I was enveloped in silence and my head ached with the pounding of a million drums. Perhaps it was the stress. Maybe it was the loneliness. Was it because there was no outlet for my frustration? It could have been any of those things. I'd never had such an estranged outburst before that day. I think that is what worried me most.

I awoke from the dark sleep in the infirmary, lying on a rather comfortable bed behind a tall rolling privacy screen. The light shone in from the window, casting lines and shadows on the white cotton sheets. There were bars on the window, but that didn't stop the small amounts of sun filtering in. The air smelt of antiseptic and cheap air freshener, but as a whole it wasn't unpleasant. It sure beat out the stuffy, humid air of the classroom and halls. It was air conditioned and the area I occupied was rather spacious; I couldn't see the rest of the infirmary due to the screen, but from what the school map said, they had almost a whole wing to themselves. If Preston Academy spent this much money to keep their infirmary in shape, I was worried as to the reasons why. I became aware that there was an ice-pack duct-taped to my forehead. I must have hit my head off the desk as I passed out; I could feel sharp pangs radiating from that spot as I moved. Groaning, I attempted to lift myself out of the bed. And failed.

"Hello?" I called out, trying to alert someone to my consciousness. How long had I been out?

The sound of sneakers filled the quiet air as someone appeared behind the screen, pulling it out of the way.

If I had had a headache before, now it was a full on migraine. His stupid smirk flashed at me from his place, leaning against the wire frame of the stretched sheet that had kept me blissfully ignorant.

"Good Morning Sunshine." Came his voice, beaming at me in an almost sarcastic joy.

"Oh gooodddddddddd" I moaned, flopping back against the pillow and bringing my hands up to my face. "What the hell are you doing here?"  
"Someone's not exactly a morning person is he?"

"That's not the reason why I'm cra-"  
"I don't care. I do my volunteer hours here. It's required by the school board AND my parole officer!"

I didn't say anything. There wasn't really much else to say.

"So what's a delicate little thing like you doing in an infirmary like this?" He asked, sauntering over to the foot of my bed and picking up a clipboard with my ailments listed on the front page. He whistled. "Rockwell Mason- HA! Nice name, dweeb- Screamed like a girl and passed out. Hit head off his desk."

"WHAT? It actually said I screamed like a girl?!"

"Don't be an idiot. The nurses here are more professional than that." He put the clipboard down and began bustling around the room, arranging various things and skittering about. I took the moment to be reasonably bashful. Regardless of how much of an asshole he was, I couldn't help but notice the grace with which he did things. Even standing he almost had this strange majesty in his posture that I was curious about. His body was toned and slightly muscled, from what I could see through his clothes. I could feel my face regain some heat when he turned to look back at me.

"Uh…uhm…what time is it?" I asked, trying to make it look like I hadn't been doing anything incriminating.

"Nearly 5," He said nonchalantly, with only a brief glance to his watch. "Everyone else left except for the head nurse and me. And you're the only patient, if you wanna call yourself that. You should probably go home now _Rockwell-"_

"Roxas. My name is Roxas."

"Whatever! _Roxas._ Either way your parents screwed you over!"

"Is that so? So what's your name?"  
Green eyes flicked up to mine almost immediately and locked me there. I wanted to look away; the look he was giving me made me feel uneasy. But I couldn't. I was stuck, careening down into the spiralled abyss of his eyes.

"Axel." His voice was breathy, almost husky in tone. I could feel my heart beat against my will, shaking the ribs in my chest. It's amazing he couldn't hear it. He was now at my bedside, getting closer and closer to me. So close it was unbearable. In that voice again, he continued "Your name is still weirder than mine." I growled. He laughed. Such was our developing relationship. It was an odd circumstance. Had he been anyone else, I would have ignored the majority of his banter, refusing to dignify his stupidity with a reaction. But every time he spoke, my nerves felt like they were standing on end, itching me to retaliate and defend myself. I shouldn't have felt like I needed to justify myself to him. Maybe I wanted to seem worthy. Maybe I wanted to show him I could keep up.

I had continued to struggle to get out of the bed. Even when I declined Axel's help, he insisted on lifting me out and helping me walk to the front door. That didn't stop him from making stupid comments about me, my looks, my attitude and about everything else. I got the feeling it was his way of making witty chitchat, but I wasn't enjoying it all that much. My head still ached and listening to him babble on and on made me want to punch him in the face. I felt my insides tear and twist, trying to decide which side to choose. I couldn't allow myself to give into the hormonal overdrive that was being generously supplied by my pituitary gland. He was a jerk and a fuck-wad; but he just looked so damn good. It wasn't going to be an easy decision and there was no way Axel was going to help it much. I didn't even know if he was into boys. Heck, I didn't know_** I**_ was into boys until I saw him. To me it was just a senior picking on a poor, lowly freshman.

I wasn't surprised to find that my mother had left. It was her usual routine to pick me up from school, but after this one blunder, I figured I'd be taking the city bus from now on. The courtyard outside was as barren as could be expected at five in the afternoon. No one wanted to stay at Preston Academy after hours. Even me. Not that I'd had a choice in the matter. And according to the bus schedule, I was fifteen minutes late for the last one to circle the area.

"Great." I mumbled under my breath, sticking my hands in my pockets as I leaned against the rough, spray painted brick.

"Mummy not coming?" Axel asked in a high-pitched voice. The boy never gave up did he?

"She's not tolerating me."

"That sure is a roundabout way of saying she's sick and tired of you."

"Shut-up. I don't need to hear it from you. I can figure that out for myself." Axel shrugged and shifted his weight from foot to foot as I stood attempting to figure out a plan of action. It was too far to walk home, and it was quite the trek to the bus station. I had no money for a taxi and I was stuck in an area of town that I'd prefer not to be in.

"So…do you want a ride?"

I froze. Did I want a ride from him? My hormones screamed yes at the top of their lungs, as did my need to leave the school. My sensible brain protested the negative, knowing I'd probably owe the redhead some sort of payback. In the end, my hormones won out as I nodded slowly, not daring to look him in the face.

He walked me to his truck; a large, scarlet coloured Ford that looked relatively well kept for someone like Axel. There were black flames painted on the hood and along the sides, outlined in silver. He grinned at me in pride as he hauled himself up into the driver's seat. I think he expected me to praise him and his large vehicle. I got a bit of humour out of the thought that he was compensating for something. As I heaved my heavy bag into the high seat and scrambled up to join him, he had started the engine, revving it so I could hear the roar and rumble it made beneath us.

"Where did you get this truck?" I had to slightly raise my voice to be heard over what I assumed was the Hemi.

"My brother got it for me."

"Birthday gift?"

"No, it was a 'congratulations on winning the appeal' gift."

"Ah." I resisted the urge to shudder. It was a strange thing for me to grasp that this guy had been in jail. Sure, I wasn't fond of him, but it just went to show how little I really knew about him. For all I knew, he could be a murderer that lured young boys into his car before he raped and killed them. I knew it would be inappropriate to ask him what he'd been "in" for, but I also wasn't sure if I actually wanted to know. I didn't want to know I was completely out of place at this school. I think in a way I did understand; that I was just a boy who'd had temper-tantrums out of boredom. And now I'd been thrown into a pool with sharks.

Axel turned on his stereo, blasting some rock group, the name of which I can't remember. He slowly and carefully peeled out of the parking lot, handling the huge metal monster with ease and an uncharacteristic finesse. We sat in relative silence as he concentrated on the road and I stewed in my own mental problems. It felt like a whirlwind had consumed me. Everything seemed to have happened so fast. I hadn't seen Axel since the first day of school, then all of a sudden we were on a first-name-basis and he was giving me a ride home. I could feel my headache pound harder, thundering my brain inside my skull. What was I going to do?

When we pulled up in my driveway, I hopped out of the truck at top speed, needing to rid myself of the red-haired menace to give me time to think. He stuck his head out of the driver's side window and shouted after me.  
"Don't I even get a THANK YOU?"

"Whatever, thanks."

"You're very ungrateful. Next time I WON'T give you a ride home!"

"That's just fine with me!"  
I stood defiantely, yet a safe distance away from the vehicle as we yelled back and forth. Meaningless words about how stupid the other is and how much we hated each other. I didn't care that my mother could have been inside the house, listening to our argument. I didn't care that we were loud enough to penetrate the homes of our neighbours. I could see his eyes watching me, examining my every move, while he stayed seated, the engine puttering away forgotten. They raked over my form in a way that was almost lascivious in nature, sending me into a series of shivers and shudders, even from my reservation. The subtle wetting of his lips was not escaped by me, and for a moment, the two of us were silent. My eyes still held indignation and mild hatred while his looked more amused than ever.

"Is this how our friendship is going to be?" he asked.

"We're NOT friends. I don't even know you."

"Why not? I practically saved your life and I gave you a ride home. We're totally friends."

"I passed out. You didn't save my life. A ride home is just that."

"Then why are you still standing there?"

I opened my mouth to say something then, but all that came out was a strangled noise of resentment. He beamed at me and backed out of my driveway, hollering something along the lines of "see you tomorrow pretty boy" as his truck careened down the street in a flurry of exhaust.

I stormed into the house, slamming doors and rattling floor boards. My mother, as I predicted, had been standing in the front window, watching me fight with…him. When I came in, she whirled around and tried to act innocent, which would have been endearing if I hadn't been so annoyed. I was hit with a barrage of questions, such as "Where have you been?" "Why did you stay after school?" "Who is he?" "Why were you two fighting?" "Is he a trouble maker?" "Did you meet him at school?" "Are you in danger?" among the few. I brushed her off and stomped to my bedroom, not willing to give her the time of day. She was the one who had left me all alone with him because – what? She was disappointed in me? What ever. What the FUCK ever.

I would have to face him again tomorrow. I was still confused. But only then, alone in my room, did I allow myself to admit I was looking forward to it.

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AN: Thanks for reading. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!


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